For any psych majors, I am listening to Gunther's album while I'm writing this. Let's see how it manifests itself.

This past weekend was a long weekend and also my birthday weekend, so I went away to La Rioja province with Maria (tee you eff tee ess represent), Mara, and Glen. The theme of the weekend was pretty much the reaction of everyone when I told them I was going to La Rioja (host mom, dad, brother, professor, program director):La Rioja? Nobody goes to La Rioja.

Bit of background:
La Rioja is in the desert in northwestern part of the country. Poorest province per capita. Has 1/6th the population density of Mendoza province. Major export: aceitunas. Blech. Aceitunas are green olives. The gods have ambrosia, Lucifer has aceitunas. They're in everything and disgusting.

Back on topic:
Wednesday night we leave from the bus station in BsAs at 8.30 pm and arrive in La Rioja (La Rioja is both the name of the province and the capital city) at 11:00 the next morning. So you don't have to strain yourself, it's 14.5 hours. Luckily, the bus was pretty luxurient with leather lazy-boy style seats that reclined to about 150 degrees. Theoretically, one would be able to sleep on such a bus if the bus drove on the interstate. However, we drove on dirt roads about half the time, so you know, it was bumpy and stuff. I was able to sleep, though. Ok this post is pretty boring so far.

Racism!

We pull in to the bus station in La Rioja and Mara and Maria go to ask for directions to the tourism office, because we traveled 14 hours without any real plans for what to do when we got there. Two police officers come over to me and Glen and ask us to register in the police office/broom closet. Real routine, they say. Ok, seems pretty harmless. They take us into the 'office' and take out a blank sheet of paper and ask for our names and document numbers. Then they ask to look in Glen's bag. Real routine. They take out every single one of his belongings - underwear, unfold them and shake them out. Contact case - open each one of his compartments. We're just looking for guns and drugs. Real routine. Blah blah blah. When they're finally done, I put my bag on the table. I don't even get my zipper halfway opened and they say we're free to go. Sorry? Didn't you just make Glen unpack his entire bag? But you don't really care what's in my bag? By this time I was pissed cuz I realized it was a race issue, so I started unpacking everything - opening up my camera case, opening my toiletry kit, etc. They insisted that we were free to go, so we took off. Asswipes.
By the way, we were the only people they asked to register.

Next, we went to the tourism office to find out what people do here. The people in the office were helpful and attentive since probably 5 people go in there a day. What they basically told us was that we were on the wrong side of the province and we had to take a bus to Villa Union, which was like 3 hrs away. And the last bus for the day left in 20 minutes. So we thank them and run like crazy yanquis to fetch a cab to go 8 blocks to the terminal so we don't miss the bus. (Gunther is over now, switched to Journey Greatest Hits). The bus tickets are sold out. Yes!! Sweet!! Don't worry, reader. We weren't stranded. The people in the tourist office were dirty dirty Argentine liars. There was another bus that left in an hour. No problem. Cool.

We go to Villa Union.

Villa Union is the smallest little shittown ever. But it is adorable and I love it. We stayed in this little hostel with this adorable little family and vomited and vomited from the adorableness.

Friday (the beginning of my third decade) we went to Talampaya and Ishigaulasto National Parks. Freaking sweet. Not gunna be hubristic and try to describe these places using words, so get yourself to my facebook albums or http://picasaweb.google.com/stevenpdyer.

Saturday. Did some horseback riding. Saw some more cave drawings that were probably fake. Paid 6 dollars for a 3 hour horseback ride. This made me content. My horse was 30 years old and probably fractured some joint-type bones, but he could giddyup when I told him to. Mara informed me that I ride Western style, not English, and that I know how to 'post' while trotting. I call it "not becoming sterile while trotting". Plate tectonics continued to play a major role in the scenery. La Rioja is the spawn of Arizona and the Meridiani Planum.
In the afternoon, we took probably the most incredible bus ride anyone has ever taken to Chilecito, which means 'Little Chile'. The chileciteños must have failed geography or something, because it is neither a small country nor a small pepper. They just failed across the board. Anyway, Glen has the pictures of the bus ride. I'll get a link to them soon or something.
Chilecito was a neat little town. Everyone in this little clothing boutique hit on me and Glen because we knew the lyrics to Celebration.

Sunday morning we were going to go to the botanical gardens (which specialize in different varieties of cactus), but they were having a special showing for reporters only. Jerks. Didn't want to look at your stupid cacti anyway. The ladies went on a trek up a mountain and Glen and I went on a photo-snapping spree throughout the town.
Bus station - the creepy man with the falling off face didn't chop us into pieces and put us in his
juicer. Success!

Went back to La Rioja (city) for the sole purpose of going to the state-owned ice cream parlor to get a scoop of communism. Took a nice little photo essay. Then I had all of my dreams shattered by the evil woman who worked there, saying that La Rioja has never had state-owned ice-cream parlors. Fucking dream bubble popper.

Disconcerting moment of the trip - it was a holy day, for a saint or a virgin or something, and they were having a procession from the church to the plaza. It was probably the creepiest thing ever, and that's not an exaggeration. Yes it is. Ok, it was a little uncomfortable because I appreciate the separation of church and state.
Accompanying the statue of the virgin was the military. And the police. (side note, addressed to the Argentine military and police- if you want to command respect, don't text message and make cat calls while in uniform and in public. Might help the total disregard for your position and authority. Just saying. It might be a start).
The priest was giving a sermon about how God hates gays and how homosexuality will destroy all of our families.
Then, two nuns recited the Lord's prayer in the Devil's Interval, and the procession started. I never want to see another religious symbol followed by men in fatigues again. I had to eat some apple pie, invade some countries, play some baseball, have a stable governent for more than 20 years, and gain 40 pounds to overcome the discomfort.

Then we came home. I had 81 emails. The Gmail notifier was working overtime. Thanks for the birthday wishes, everyone! Also, it's really cool that my host family actually missed me.

P.S. In La Rioja, they say r's like y's or ll's. So it's "la zhee-OH-ja".

P.P.S. My last post was better than this one. I acknowledge this.

On the periphery of Buenos Aires' sex trade...

I'm just going to give the general rundown of this past weekend. Many people ask me, "Steve, what is your typical weekend like in Buenos Aires, Argentina??" If you are one of these people or if you hadn't really thought about it until now, but now you are really interested in the answer, here is the answer! This is how most of my weekends go.

Friday night began at 11:45 pm when after texting 7 people from 10-10:30 pm, I got one affirmitive response from Tim Hallowell. Cell phone calls here don't happen cuz it's like 1.5 pesos/min. Tim, Greg, and I decide to check out The Alamo. I had no idea what type of place was, other than it was a bar. I arrive at 12:15 am and discover that it is an ex-pat bar. Important features:

• 90% of clientele are American college students
• both of the bartenders are American, which leads to funny epiphanies when "oon zheen ahnd toe-nick" is met with "So you want a gin and tonic?"
• Tequila shots are 4 pesos ($1.33) for ladies and 7 pesos for guys
• They show ALL NFL games
• Sunday lunches have all you can drink beer.

At about 1 am, literally 40 COPAs roll in. Let me say this: COPAs are superior to all other Americans in Buenos Aires. We're smarter, more intelligent, and morally superior. Just saying.

Jesse lives-around-the-corner-from-me Rogers' friend was there, and this friend is a promoter for various clubs in BsAs. This particular night he was promoting Mint, so a bunch of COPAs got 20 peso passes that let us jump to the front of the line (instead of waiting for an hour and paying 50 pesos). We head out at about 3:30 to go to Mint. Mint has two floors - one that plays techno so loud that the soundwaves can fracture ribs, and a hip hop floor with a more reasonable sound level. It's a buena honda and I think that I've mentioned it before. Anyway, at 5:30, the bouncers close the doors between the two floors. Then, everyone on the hip-hop floor (including me, obviously) gets corralled by bouncers out of the building and onto the patio. Once everyone is outside, everyone on the patio gets corralled off of the patio and onto the beach (which is no longer Mint territory) and gates are closed. We realize that we just got kicked out. 400 of us. Apparently they were over capacity and we have to go around and wait in a line to get back into the club so they can control how many people go in at a time. Hey geniouses, isn't that what you were supposed to be doing in the first place? Me and the three people I was with decide that this was just as good as time as any to test out our cross-language chewing out skills. I think it was the first time I correctly used the phrase "concha de tu madre." Mad props to me. Two of us had jackets at the coat check, so after a few min of fighting with the bouncer, he lets one of us go retrieve the coats. Thanks, ass.

We decide to bounce.

We grab a cab, and it's the first female taxi driver I've had. Cool, man. First we have to drop off Jasmine. Jasmine lives on the corner of two avenues, which means that all taxi drivers know where it is. Jasmine is a native speaker, so there was no miscommunication. (At this point, your foreshadowing detectors are undoubtedly tingling. Just a few more sentences.) We are driving down Avenida Cabildo. One of the subte lines runs under it, so it's a pretty well-known street. We pass the last subte stop on the line. Jasmine is talking on her cell (ok, so sometimes people talk on cell phones). We go twenty more blocks. Jasmine realizes that we are pretty much no longer in the limits of the city of Buenos Aires because we passed her street 30 blocks ago. (that's the feeling of release for the reader, cuz we finally got to the point of the foreshadowing). Another chance to practice chewing out skills! All 4 of us at once! We tell her to pull over and we get out without paying, cross the street, and hop on a colectivo to get back to civilization. Jesse lives-around-the-corner-from-me Rogers and I hop in a taxi and go home. I get to my house at 6:30. 6:40 my 31 yr old host brother comes stumbling in and says "Steve, I have an awesome place we should go to right now. Let's go." I politely decline. He goes into his room for about 5 minutes and then goes back out. 6:45 I get into bed and go to sleep.

2 pm my alarm goes off. I shut it off.

3.30 pm I wake up, check facebook, go into the kitchen, and make a turkey sammich. 4.15 said host brother wakes up and comes into the kitchen to join me. I begin to inquire about his evening. He proudly tells me that he had one of the best nights of his life the night previous. He and 5 friends went to a whorehouse. He chose the girl from Warsaw. His other options were a german, an austrian, and some argentine chicks, all between 20 and 25 years of age. I am assured that all of the women were knock-outs. Unfortunately, they charge a lot for their services, which is why he returned home at 6:30. He had spent all of his money between 12 am and 6 am and had to come home to get more and happened to invite me to "a great house party he knows of." He got back home for good at 9 am.

Start my day Saturday by being 15 min late for a thing at the Plaza de Mayo that was pretty lame. Went to Subway. They don't have chipotle sauce here, which means I'll never go to Subway again here.

Saturday dinner we went to a middle eastern place with 8 others. We decided to meet at 10. I got there at 10:10 and was the second one there. By 10:35 everyone was there. Food was terrific, company was exquisite, service so-so. There was a dog wandering around the kitchen. We paid the check at 1:45 am. We part ways, and Greg and I go to a house party hosted by a German chick where the COPAs Ben, Raul, and Alejandro are. The hostess won't let us in cuz it's too full, so Ben, Fernando the Spaniard, and Marcos the Argentine decide to leave and we walk 5 blocks to a bar. There's a huge line, which pisses off Fernando. He really needs to pee and drink a beer. He also would like to follar. After waiting an hour in line and we are 3 feet from the door, Fernando gets fed up with waiting, so we get in a taxi and go to another boliche "that is wicked sweet." Greg parts ways to go to where his Harvard friend Mia is. The 4 remaining go to a birthday party in the function room of a snazzy hotel downtown, but the doorman doesn't let us in cuz it's too full. Get in another taxi. Marcos knows a great club. The bouncer doesn't let us in cuz we're 4 guys and it happens to be a swingers' club. Marcos argues with him. We're told to come back on a Wednesday by ourselves cuz we'll get in and the cover is only 30 pesos instead of 60. Or comeback anytime with a girl. For those who are unfamiliar with what a swinger's club is, I offer you Marcos' explanation (which he explained in English):

So you go to this club with your girlfriend. And you go to someone who looks nice and you say to them, "you fuck my girlfriend while I watch?" And then some guy come to you and he say to you "you fuck my girlfriend while I watch?"

Just for the record, Mom, never once did I even consider going into the club, even if the guy would have let us.

After this last rejection, we finally found a place that would let us in. Cell phone says 4:45. It's a nice place near the Recoleta cementary and it's playing Bon Jovi's "Shot through the heart" and Journey. It's gunna be a good night.

5 am, they change format to Argentine national rock. Similar, except with 75% less awesometude. 6 am they change format to merengue/salsa/brazilian. 6:30 we bounce and Ben and I go to the 24 hour McDonald's across the street. A group of 6 girls at the table next to us hears us speaking English and starts joking about us, so we let them know that we speak castellano. They comment on how cute we talk and join us. Me and Ben are pretty much celebrities and everything we say is the most interesting thing ever.

Cab, home. Sleep at 8 am.

Wake up at 4 pm. Go with Fede to watch the Boca game at Grandma's house cuz Silvia has the ladies over for tea since my host dad is in Oregon for his 40th high school reunion (he was a foreign exchange student).

9 pm the whole extended fam comes over for dinner cuz it's Auntie Cachita's bday. I always love big family functions. I'm a family-oriented kinda guy. As ususal, the conversation turns to how Americans are fat and Argentines are all crazy and have body image problems, and everyone puts me to shame with their in-depth analysis of every good American film, none of which I had seen. I translated some of the notes in Eduardo's yearbook for the family. Lots of laughter. Yes, everyone in America gets a yearbook, Argentina. I come to the conclusion that Argentina is the only country where people still like Americans. Or, just as likely, the only place where the people don't have the balls to tell Americans to their face that we suck.

Either way, it's 12 am at this point and my weekend is technically over. Everyone goes home.

Congratulations if you read this whole post! It's 3 pages in Word, single spaced, size 12 Times New Roman.